


Feast of the Lamb Vignettes

by FreudianDreams



Category: Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha Hannibal Lecter, Alpha/Omega, Bottom Will Graham, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, Intersex, Intersex Will Graham, M/M, Omega Will Graham, Top Hannibal Lecter, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Will Graham Loves Hannibal Lecter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-26
Packaged: 2021-03-12 09:07:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29008044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FreudianDreams/pseuds/FreudianDreams
Summary: The lives of Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham are on a collision course set to breakdown the moorings of both Alpha and Omega. Their lives are their own until a formidable bond comes to set them on the path to Hell.A series of short vignettes depicting the relationship between the Devil and the Lamb.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Kudos: 30





	Feast of the Lamb Vignettes

"We have never heard the devil's side of the story, God wrote all the book."  
-Anatole France

Will gasps when he feels a hand hot against the small of his back, his skin prickling at the way sensations are heightened, the smell of Hannibal thick in the room like a heavy blanket of want and disapproval. 

"You've been very disobedient, William," the Alpha hums, the words seeming to vibrate through his hand and up his spine where it lay against bare skin, Will knelt in the middle of the bed as he'd been coaxed with sweet words and promises until Hannibal had released the frustration that now swirls the room. The rut had come ahead of schedule, and Will knows because Hannibal has conditioned his heats to coincide, those first crampings of his womb never more than a day off from the almost oppressive weight of his mate's rut. 

"Hannibal," he speaks with a voice that is weak against the crackling waves of pheromones flooding the room. 

"You haven't been coming home on time." Hannibal continues as if he hadn't spoken and Will can feel the slow press of fingers up along his spine, a palm cupping every vertebrae in its upward path. 

"The case...it's...ah..." Will struggles to find words when Hannibal's scent is pressing into him so heavily, bearing down into his willpower as if to grind it into dust. And perhaps, that is his very intention. 

"This case is more important to you than your Alpha?" Hannibal muses gently with a deceptive air of calm as his hand reaches the space between shoulder blades. 

"No, but--" He's silenced when that hand shoves downward to flatten his chest against the bed, arching his back with his knees beneath him, displaying both holes where slick has begun to glisten, to drip toward balls. 

"Jack is more important to you than your Alpha?" Hannibal almost snarls the other man's name as he holds Will firmly with strength that not many see. At least, not unless they're about to die anyway. 

"No." Will breathes weakly into the blanket, lungs compressed by the position, his spine stretching taut as he's folded nearly in half. 

"No?" Hannibal echoes and his voice holds a mocking lilt that makes Will swallow around a whine. 

"Hannibal, please..." He whispers low but knows the man hears him when the tense silence stretches too long, lasts too many frantic heartbeats that pound against his ribcage, before a hand is anchoring around the back of his neck and arching him upright with a firm grip. 

"Please what, William?" The man's voice is at his ear, spreading warm breath against his cheek, and Will wants to turn, wants to press into those tense lips but the hand prevents him from moving. 

"I'll be good for you, Alpha. Let me show you," he promises, sighing low when pheromones soften into a pleased wave. 

"You will be a good boy for me, won't you?" It's spoken as a statement rather than a question but Will nods anyway, a moan forced out of his throat when Hannibal's other hand presses to his stomach, feels the muscles there quiver, before digits draw a warm trail up, thumb and forefinger framing his throat when the hand locks tightly around his jaw. "I believe, in my clinical opinion, that some time away from your job is needed. A few days, perhaps." A command is there, beneath the gently spoken words, and Will swallows again, his Adam's apple bobbing against a palm. "You'll have many things to occupy you in that time, I am sure." 

Will can't think clearly when warmth is settled between the achingly wide spread of his legs, his ass resting on a solid thighs to tilt his hips up for long, thick digits to sink past his dripping folds to open him for Hannibal's cock. Normally, his cervix would open during his heat, allow a bit more room for the sheer size of the man, but in the middle of his cycle, it remains firmly closed, his walls needing that careful stretch to be able to accept him without potential injury. 

"Look at you, Will." Hannibal hums and his voice sounds reverent, awed, as his maroon-brown eyes watch the sink of two fingers into a fluttering hole, glistening slick coating fingers and knuckles. "You've made a mess of yourself. If I didn't know any better, I'd believe your heat had come as well with how you swallow my so perfectly." Fingers nudge deep, circle the shallow dome of his cervix before prodding the dip of its opening, Will releasing a keening moan as feeling him so deep. "But you haven't opened here yet. It's alright, darling, you can still be a good boy for me." 

"Hannibal...fuck...I'm ready, just..." Will slams his head back into pillows when a third finger presses past the tight resistance to slide home beside the other two and Hannibal spends an excruciatingly long time fucking him open on three and then four fingers, holding stuttering hips with a hand bruising around bone. Will devolves into gasps, moans, and Hannibal's name, biting into the swollen plush of his lip as he whimpers at the wet sounds fingers make plunging into him. 

"I believe you're ready now, Will." Hannibal has barely undressed, still wearing a now-wrinkled dress shirt that has come untucked from charcoal slacks where a belt has been undone only enough to extract a flushed, weeping length that makes Will's heart pound with faint nervousness. "Oh, my sweet Will." Hannibal croons as he slips fingers slowly free, wraps slick digits around a hot shaft and hisses low as he strokes firmly from swelling base to tip before he's gliding through folds, Will crying out at the contact as if burned. And it does burn, the heat of his cock almost searing against swollen lips, nudging flushed balls and his own dripping cock where it drools come against his lower stomach. "I won't lie to you, Will. This will likely hurt. Endure it for me, you'll open up for me soon enough." Will can only watch, jaw slack, as Hannibal lines his cock up and the tip nudges his entrance, warm as it presses against that muscle and he feels himself stretching. Even four fingers hadn't been enough to prepare him for the girth of the length that pushes into him, a steady, endless push that makes him choke, makes him think the man will break into his womb anyway when the spongy head meets his cervix but keeps pushing, as if trying to shift his uterus into his belly. Tears spring to his eyes when the pressure deepens, his hands gripping at the wrists of the fingers denting his hips, and he's held still until finally, finally the man's hips meet his but when Will looks down through watery eyes, his lower stomach is bulging outward, an unmistakable rise just below his navel where Hannibal holds his full length in him, forces him to accommodate or break as harsh pants and growls rise from the man's throat, control slipping by the second. Horrified and mesmerized, Will lifts a trembling hand and lays his palm over where Hannibal's cock is pushing up into him, seated so deeply Will distantly wonders if he'll be ruined after. 

"Hannibal." he chokes out, wide blue-green eyes dragging up to meet irises swallowed by the black of pupils, rut fully settling, and it's that sight that serves as the only warning he gets before a brutal thrust steals his breath, a cock slamming up into his palm as his cervix protests the treatment but withstands it all the same when hips start a punishing rhythm, Will unable to do anything but grip a forearm with one hand and press the other low on his belly to feel the way thrusts batter his insides and force them to open. Like this, Will can adjust, can slip into the steady rhythm of feeling a cock pounding at his insides like he's trying to let himself inside, as of he hasn't already carved out a home for himself deep inside Will. He thinks that if it weren't for every thrust making him feel so full he might split in two, he could drift off like this, sweat sticking his back to sheets as it beads his skin with pheromones that leak in response to the warm smell of rut that makes him feel as if he's lounging before the fireplace, a heated glow pouring onto his skin, just shy of burning him. Hannibal could throw him into his own heat if he gets much more out of control, if his rut lasts longer than usual. He's unsure of how many days he'll spend speared by the Alpha, his ruts always on schedule, his own heats obediently right behind them, this uncharted territory making his breath catch, the unknown of how long he'll be at the man's mercy making nerves twist with his pleasure and Hannibal must feel the shift because a sound of displeasure rises from a throat. 

"If you can still spare time overthinking, I've not done my job properly, have I?" He rumbles and Will nearly screams when hips meet his with more force, the Alpha's pace quickening, strengthening until every thrust forces the breath from his lungs and he can't catch it, can't draw enough oxygen into his foggy brain to combat the black and white dots that swim at the edges of his vision. At this pace, Will can't keep up, can't recover enough before the next thrust to be able to hold in the sobs that rattle through his chest, taking his hand from the nudge of a cock through his stomach and gripping at the forearms with the bite of blunt nails. 

"Hannibal...wait..." he whimpers when words make hips stutter, make him thrust harder, and he thinks he'll pass out of this continues so he slips down into the sweet breath of his Voice, "Alpha, slow down--" Hands yank him into the next thrust with a power that shakes the frame of the bed, makes the headboard kiss the wall, and makes Will's body begin to ache with pain and need. 

"Bad boy, William," Hannibal scolds with a click of tongue against teeth, "And here you were behaving so well." The punishing pace resumes without pause and the force of it slips Will in and out of awareness, perhaps even consciousness, he can't be sure when he can only grab snatches of time, of hands razing his skin, a fist around his throat, lips at the sensitive bud of his nipple. His orgasm is hovering just out of reach, forced back by the deliberate angle that avoids his spot, and it's not until thrusts begin to stutter, to lose their rhythm, that hips shift and he's dragged further up onto thighs for the tip of a cock to batter that spot in quick, brutal jabs that bring wails to his lips, wordless sounds that are punched out of his chest with a merciless, breathy chuckle. The swiftness with which he surges up to that peak makes his spine arch, his thighs clenching around hips, and when he tries to hold off, he's shoved over the edge by that shove of the Alpha's cock into the deepest parts of his cunt, over that place near his prostate that makes his cock, spilling all over his own chest, jerk with each slam of hips. Hannibal milks him through it, the swell of a knot catching on his fluttering hole, every muscle limp as he fades in and out, chokes weakly when a knot shoves into him just before it locks, opening him up wider than before when he feels rather than hears his mate growl as come spills against his clenching walls, and distantly, he'll remember looking down and seeing his belly ever so slightly swollen, as if in the beginning stages of pregnancy and it's with that thought, of being kept close and bred, that his consciousness fully fades, Hannibal murmuring praise above him that he can't decipher before darkness claims him.

**Author's Note:**

> Thomas Harris's characters are not owned, any resemblance to real people or places is purely fiction.


End file.
